Happily Civilly Unionised
by RedEyedWarrior
Summary: Duncan hates his life! He's now unhappily married to his worst enemy, but he's having difficulty leaving the marriage. Oh, and Trent tries to marry the number nine. If you are anti-Duncan, then you will love this.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the sequel to my parody fic **_**I Could Be the One (To Make You Feel That Way)**_**. I decided to keep that as a one-shot, but because I'll Cover Angel and Collins loved it so much, here's the sequel. I highly recommend reading the prequel before reading this. That way, you'll understand this fic more, and you'll have a laugh before reading this fic, which is also probably going to make you laugh, especially if you're anti-Duncan. Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I'm too young and too crazy to own **_**Total Drama**_**.**

* * *

Duncan sat in his seat with his arms folded, scowling. He could not believe this. Why would Chris willingly allow some of the contestants to feck off to another country without his supervision while they were already on vacation? Duncan had no idea why. All he knew was that at one point in his life, he was so drunk he married the last person in the entire universe that he would ever dare think about marrying.

Speaking of which, Harold sat on the seat next to Duncan's. He got the window seat. Both he and Duncan wanted it. Harold wanted it because every time he got on a plane he sat by the window seat. Duncan wanted it because that way he'd feel more sheltered from his fellow passengers. They were all giving Duncan and Harold perplexed looks. They've all seen _Total Drama_, and they all knew that Duncan and Harold hated each other. Duncan hoped that they were just assuming that he and Harold were on probation after having a huge fight that caused destruction or something along those lines. Anyway, Harold got the window seat, because he threatened to sit on Duncan's lap if Duncan got it. Naturally, Duncan could have beaten up Harold for the seat, but then again, if he did, not only would he get arrested for assault, he'd also get arrested for domestic violence, and he does not want to go back to prison.

What's worse is that Trent insisted on going with them, so Duncan was forced to sit next to Trent. Harold bought tickets for an Aer Lingus flight instead of a Ryanair flight, even though the Ryanair flight was cheaper. The fact that Aer Lingus has nine letters gave Trent a second reason to travel to Shannon Airport with Duncan and Harold.

The first reason was because Ireland recently passed a constitutional amendment to allow Irish citizens aged 18 or over to marry _anything_ they want, and they can have up to eight spouses at once. This means that Trent can finally marry the number nine! He couldn't wait. He turned to face Duncan and grinned.

"Who are you looking at, Doctor Nine?!" Duncan demanded.

"Isn't this exciting?!" beamed Trent.

"No," Duncan rolled his eyes.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that," Trent begged. "This is an exciting time of our lives. You and Harold are happily married, and I get to marry the number nine!" Duncan rolled his eyes again, thinking Trent is a moron.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Duncan sneered. He wanted to listen to his music to calm his nerves, but all of his songs were on his phone and the staff on the aeroplane insisted that everyone turned off their phones. They weren't even allowed to put their phones on flight mode. All Duncan could do now was get out a book from Harold's backpack. Harold brought quite a few books with him, including science books and history books. Duncan sighed in relief, however, when he noticed that Harold also brought a _Hunger Games_ book. He loved _the Hunger Games_, and even though he's read the books several times each he still could not get enough of them. He opened up the book, only to discover traces of drool and mucous along most of the pages. Yep, that was definitely Harold's book alright. Duncan sighed relentlessly as he shoved the book back into Harold's backpack and slumped on his chair. Harold reached out his hand and clasped Duncan's hand in his. Duncan looked at him. Harold smiled as a barely visible stream of mucous oozed out of his left nostril.

"Gosh, Duncan this is going to be romantic," he beamed. Duncan flinched as Harold let go of his hand to wipe the snot off of his nose and rub it against the window.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Duncan sneered. Missing the sarcastic tone in his husband's voice, Harold gave Duncan a kiss on the cheek. Duncan cringed again. As soon as he got back to Canada, he was going to file for an annulment.

* * *

Harold, Duncan and Trent finally arrived at the airport. While Trent and Harold were waiting to collect the luggage, Duncan made a dash for the toilets to wash his cheek in hot water. Now, he could have done that on the plane, but there was no way Duncan was going to climb over Trent to get to the toilet. If Duncan was going to have to climb over Trent, Trent was going to make Duncan do it nine times, so Duncan was forced to sit in his seat and hold his piss for two whole hours as they flew from Faro Airport to Shannon Airport. In the end, Duncan spent ten minutes in the bathroom; three minutes pissing into the urinal, seven minutes dunking his head under hot water at the sink to wipe away Harold's germs from his face.

Duncan raised his head to see his reflection in the mirror. He could not believe how drunk he was yesterday. He was going to kill Izzy for spiking his drink the next time he saw her. And if he was going to kill her, he was going to make sure he did it in Ireland. They'd probably suspend all but one day of his sentence. Why wouldn't day? They'd just consider Duncan a psychopath and release him back into the wild. However, if Duncan did kill Izzy, the Canadian government would have him brought back to Canada to be charged with high treason and receive a life sentence, because the whole reason why Canada is considered a world superpower and that every other country in the world feared Canada was because Izzy lives there. With a final splash of the face with hot water, Duncan dried himself up with the hand-dryer and walked out of the toilets.

"There you are, GOSH!" Harold scowled, as they left the airport. "What took you so long?!"

"Had to take a shit," Duncan lied. This earned him stares from parents who happened to be passing with their young children. Duncan ignored them and said, "So where are we going now, deer?!"

"We're staying at a hotel in Lahinch, plus we hired a car," said Harold. "It was nice of Trent to offer to drive."

"Fine," Duncan huffed, putting his luggage into the boot of the car. This was going to be one long honeymoon, he thought.

* * *

Duncan knew that this was going to be a long honeymoon because the drive to Lahinch along was long enough. Trent took the wrong turn and they ended up in Limerick. Harold then insisted that they stop and a video game shop and look around and Trent insisted on searching the entire city of Limerick for a 'number nine store', even though there was none. They went back on the route to Lahinch, but first they had to stop at Bunratty Castle because Harold wanted to explore the castle and Trent wanted to preach the Number Nine Religion to the other tourists, much to their discomfort. No one was as uncomfortable as Duncan, however. When they got to Newmarket-on-Fergus they had to stop for diesel, and when they got to Ennis, Harold insisted on stopping at one of Ennis's endless chain of Chinese restaurants and have a romantic evening with Duncan while Trent went about the streets of the town preaching the Number Nine Religion. It was dark by the time they reached Lahinch and it took the trio two hours to find their hotel. That was very late, considering that nightfall doesn't come about until ten in Ireland during the summer. Thankfully, the hotel manager was a huge Total Drama fan, and an even huger fan of DunHarold, so she didn't mind they were late. Of course, she ignored the glares Duncan was giving her.

Duncan and Harold finally found themselves in their hotel room. Duncan was still scowling. He did not want to share a bed with Harold, and he had a long list of reasons why he does not want to sleep with Harold other than the fact that he's not in love with Harold. Duncan cringed as he watched Harold strip out of his clothes and put on his pyjamas. Much to Duncan's humour, however, Harold's pyjamas were baby blue and they had yellow and red trains on them.

"What's so funny?" Harold wondered as he caught Duncan smirking.

"Who wears that at your age?!" Duncan chuckled.

"Hey, I love trains!" Harold breathed, hopping into bed. He patted the space next to him and said, "You should get some sleep. We've been up since four o'clock in the morning, and you were very drunk last night."

"Don't remind me," Duncan scowled, as he stripped out of his clothes and climbed into bed with Harold, wearing only his boxers. He turned off the night-light before plopping his head down on his pillow.

"Duncan?!" Harold asked five minutes later.

"What do you want, twerp?!" Duncan hissed.

"Do you ever wonder how we are going to conceive kids?" Harold asked. "Should we adopt, or should we hire a surrogate mother? And if we decide to hire a surrogate mother, which country should she be inseminated in? Should it be the United States, or Armenia, or Cyprus?"

"Can we not have this discussion?!" Duncan demanded.

"Okay," said Harold. Ten minutes later, Harold asked: "Duncan? Do you want to have sex with me?"

That question alone caused Duncan to faint. Harold shrugged, assuming silence meant 'yes'.

* * *

**And there we have it, the first night of Harold and Duncan's tedious honeymoon. It's going to get even worse from here, especially when Trent goes through with his plans to marry the number nine. There will be other odd couples in this fic as well, but this is all about Duncan and Harold. This may only be a few chapters long, but then again, the number of chapters depends on how popular this fic is. And don't worry; I'm not finished with My Big Fat Creepy Roommate. I still have loads more chapters to write for it.**

**Until next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm back again! In case you were wondering, I despise Duncan for many reasons. There are many episodes of all three seasons he competed in that have influenced my opinions about the guy. To sum it all up, he's a bully and a writer's pet. 'Nuff said.**

* * *

Harold stretched and yawned the next morning. He turned to face Duncan and shook him awake. Duncan grumbled and opened his eyes. He glared at Harold.

"You'd better have a good reason for waking me up so early," Duncan hissed.

"Gosh, Duncan, it's gone half eight," Harold assured him.

"HALF EIGHT?!" snapped Duncan.

"Yes, sorry for letting you sleep in for two hours," said Harold, "I felt you needed your eight hours of sleep, and we didn't get to bed last night until half twelve."

"I usually don't get up before noon!" Duncan scowled.

"Well maybe you should start going to bed earlier. You need to go to bed at least nine hours before you plan on getting up. You need the eight hours of sleep plus the one hour before you go to sleep so you can masturbate."

"Yeah, I don't think I needed to hear that," sneered Duncan. "Look, can't I stay in bed for a few more hours?" he begged.

"No," replied Harold. "We need to hurry before the breakfast room closes at ten. Besides, it's a lovely day outside. Days like these don't come so often in this part of the Republic of Ireland."

"Then why didn't we just stay in Portugal with the rest of our crowd?!" Duncan demanded.

"Then it wouldn't be a honeymoon!" Harold scolded. "Curse your ignorance of the importance of going to different places in order to have a normal honeymoon! IDIOT!"

"Then why couldn't we just go to Spain, or Italy?!"

"We need a change of scenery! GOSH! Now get up, defecate, take a shower, brush your teeth and get dressed. We have a big day ahead of us."

Duncan huffed relentlessly. He hated Harold. Some day he was going to murder him.

* * *

The first few hours of the morning were a living Hell for Duncan. During breakfast, Harold sneezed into Duncan's omelette. Because Harold didn't notice, he made sure that Duncan finished his omelette and he threatened to throw a tantrum if he didn't. Duncan tried to explain to Harold that he sneezed into his omelette, but Harold didn't believe him, so Duncan was forced to eat the omelette and now he has Harold's germs in his body. That was nothing, however, compared to the stares everyone else at the hotel were giving Duncan. It was discovered that the two got married while they were in Portugal, but it was not discovered that Duncan was drunk the whole time during the wedding. Some guests were snickering at Duncan, while some of the other guests tried to give Duncan a piece of their minds for being the "writer's pet" and ruining Gwen and Courtney's friendship.

After breakfast, Harold insisted on taking the bus to the Burren, so more people ended up staring at Duncan and Harold. Harold was blissfully oblivious to this, and he even went as far as to spew random facts at some of the passengers who have happened to have the misfortune of sitting next to Harold and Duncan. Harold even gave a lecture to a passenger, who happened to be a primary school teacher, on how it was counterproductive to shove the Irish language down the throats of primary school children. The teacher made it clear that he knew that, but that there was nothing he could do about it because he already informed the government of this so many times but the government ignored them every time. Harold responded by stating that the narrow majority of Irish voters were just idiots for voting for the wrong politicians into the government, so the teacher boxed Harold in the face.

Duncan couldn't help but double over, laughing his head off. Harold whirled his head around to glare at his husband.

"Duncan McGrady, it is impolite to laugh at other people's stupidity," Harold scolded. This statement shocked Duncan, causing him to flinch and then glare at Harold.

"How do you mean by Duncan McGrady?!" Duncan hissed.

"You took my surname, remember?!" Harold insisted.

"WHAT?!" shrieked Duncan. "Are y-you s-saying I… t-t-took y-your… n-NAME?!" he choked.

"Gosh, Duncan, you only took my surname!" Harold scolded. "You're such an idiot, GOSH!"

Duncan had had enough. He grabbed Harold by the shirt and pulled him close. "Now listen here, dweeb! I did not want to marry you! The only reason I did marry you was because that Izzy bitch spiked my drink with some powerful drug or something! As soon as we get back to Portugal, I am filing for an annulment! And as soon as we get back to Canada, I am filing for a restraining order against you! Ya understand?!"

Harold was shocked by this. He scrunched his face up into a glare and clamped his hand over Duncan's mouth.

"Duncan, you've got to calm down!" he warned. "Are you not aware of the attention you are attracting from the individuals we are travelling on the bus with?! Just because we didn't have sex last night does not give you a right to be cranky and take it all out on everyone!"

Duncan was horrified. He was not sure whether Harold was missing the point or he was saying that just to get back at Duncan for hurting his feelings, but he did know for a fact that everyone else on the bus was snickering at him. He slumped in his chair and buried his face in his chair, contemplating why he was ever born. Harold, mistaking this for a sign that Duncan was upset, placed an arm around Duncan's shoulder. Duncan was too miserable and pissed off to care. He realised that he was only going to make things even more awkward for himself if he fought for longer with Harold, knowing Harold.

* * *

Meanwhile, Trent drove to the nearest council office to collect the marriage license. He strolled into the government building, where a horrible sight met his eyes. There were nine couples standing in line to collect their marriage licenses. There was no way in the Place Devoid of the Number Nine that Trent was going to be the tenth in line, so he promptly cut in front of the ninth couple in the line so he could be the ninth person in line.

However, the couple behind him was obviously not happy about it, so they glared at him. Trent smiled at them and said:

"Fear not; it's just the Founder and Arch-Prophet of the Number Nine Religion claiming his rightful place as the ninth person in line."

"You do realise that once the first couple in line gets sorted out, you'll become the eight person in line!" one of the brides-to-be sneered, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, but I must start off as the ninth person in line in order to please the Ninth God!" Trent insisted.

"Ninth God?!" the groom-to-be of the couple in front of Trent wondered, turning around to face Trent.

"Yes, there are nine gods!" Trent explained. "They are Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and, _OF COURSE_, the Ninth God!"

"So you've named eight of your "gods" after planets?" the future wife of the groom-to-be snickered. "Hysterical."

"That's only because the Ninth God is the most important god of all gods!" Trent explained. "Without Him, there would be no number nine! _Ten_ would come after eight, _twenty_ would come after eighteen, and _thirty_ would come after twenty-eight and so on! There would be _thirteen_ hours in an analogue clock but _twenty-five_ hours in a total day, and twenty-five cannot be divided into two by _any_ whole number, not even thirteen! And worst of all, _ten_ would be my lucky number instead of nine, AND I HATE TEN!"

The outburst drew attention from everyone in the room. The man at the desk looked up at Trent and rolled his eyes. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked, trying as hard as he could to be polite.

"Certainly!" beamed Trent. "As soon as you've sorted out the eight couples in front of me, I would like to marry the number nine!"

The man at the desk looked like he has just seen an alien, but he shrugged it off. "I'll deal with you when it's your turn," he stated. He took a deep breath and went back to sorting out the first couple in line.

"You can't be serious," one of the brides-to-be behind Trent chortled. "You're actually going to marry a number? Is that even physically possible?"

"_Anything_ is possible with the power of the nine!" Trent smiled. "And thanks to your constitution, in addition to having our marriage recognised by the Ninth God, it will be recognised civilly by at least one government!"

"You're from Canada, right?" the future wife of one of the brides-to-be behind Trent asked.

"Born and raised!" Trent beamed.

"Good luck having your marriage recognised by your government back home," the bride-to-be sneered. "We would have been in a similar situation for the past ten years if we got married over there, before we legalised marriage equality over here!"

Trent's ears pricked up. "For the past ten years, you say? Well, convert to the Number Nine Religion, and the Ninth God will heal you from those ten years of misery and the number ten."

"Yeah, we're not going to do that," the woman's fiancée stated. "We're happy enough as non-practicing Catholics, thank you very much."

"WHAT?!" shrieked Trent. "How could you be so blasphemous?!" he demanded.

"Yeah, like **you** were being so religious," the woman sneered.

"May I remind you that we are currently in the Republic of Ireland, where blasphemy can incur fines?!" Trent threatened.

"The definition of blasphemy is vague," the bride-to-be retorted. "And since most people in this country are more concerned with the economy, cost of living and personal freedoms rather than their religion, the law banning blasphemy is useless. The previous government only passed the law just to get the public to love them again after screwing with our economy, although it obviously made us hate those lazy scumbags more."

"Well regardless, if you insult the Ninth God, you will spend an eternity in the Place Devoid of the Number Nine!" Trent threatened. "Unless I stab each of you in nine places nine times each!" This caused everyone to turn and stare at Trent again. The man at the desk decided he has finally ran out of patience. He stood up, but kept both of his hands pressed against the desk.

"My apologies, but please excuse me and wait here while I go alert the Gardaí," he informed the couple sitting at the other end of his desk. They nodded understandingly, and the man went off to get to the telephone. Trent smiled at this and said:

"It's so nice to see some justice being served."

The groom-to-be in front of him turned around and asked: "Do you even realise who the man behind the desk is hoping for the guards to arrest?"

"Yep!" beamed Trent. The man knew Trent was assuming that it was the lesbian couple that were getting arrested, but he decided it was more important to be as less involved in the whole situation as possible.

* * *

**And so that leaves chapter two of our epically strange misadventure with Harold and Duncan, and Trent and the number nine. A surprising twist comes about and the gang returns to Portugal in the next chapter. Also beware that the next chapter will be crazier than this, I can guarantee you that.**

**I must go now and watch over as much **_**Total Drama**_** episodes as I can. I feel it wold help me analyse my opinions about the characters and relationships a bit. There are a lot of episodes that I have only seen once, and I feel I should get more connected with the canon versions of the characters I like, in a not-so-creepy way.**

**Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Like most of my work, this chapter was write off the top of my head. As I've said in the last chapter, the gang does get back to Portugal this chapter, but not until the very end. Why? Because until that point in the chapter, there's a lot of crazy shit just waiting to be read. Enjoy!**

* * *

Just when Duncan thought the day couldn't get any worse, it got worse. When they got to the Burren, Harold spewed useless facts about limestone, freeze-thaw action, carbonation and karst landscapes. Harold also didn't hesitate to correct the tour guide whenever he said something incorrect, or what Harold thought was incorrect. Everyone was looking at the couple, thinking that Harold was _a right cheeky little fucker who desperately needs a good kick up the arse_. Duncan could tell by the looks on the other tourists' faces that that was what they were thinking. Naturally, Harold was oblivious to this. Harold also acted like he knew Aillwee Cave inside and out, and at the Cliffs of Moher, Harold went on and on about the differences between pirates and Vikings and the tale of Grace O'Malley. The lanky dweeb even gabbed out how waves are created and how they could be used to generate electricity.

"You do realise no one was listening, right?" Duncan sneered.

"They didn't need to," Harold replied, "by continuing to speak, I was mentally drilling the information into their heads. In no time, Irish society will be dependent on renewable means of generating electricity rather than use fossil fuels that will eventually run out and until then, pollute the environment and contribute to global warming. Once the people I have educated gain some knowledge, I have done my job."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Your 'job', is to shut the Hell up!"

"No, my job is to-"

"SHUT UP!"

* * *

Meanwhile, Trent was in the Garda station for threatening the couple.

"I don't understand it," Trent protested. "I mean, those two women were the ones being blasphemous heretics as they offended the Ninth God."

"Yes, and by the time we showed up, you've mercilessly stabbed nine innocent bystanders nine times each," was the Garda's reply. "Trent, I'm going to ask you why you did that, and your answer cannot be 'because the Ninth God told me to'. So why did you stab these people?"

"They were pointing and laughing at me, telling me to get a grip and calling me insane!" Trent growled. "They were like, '_oh, the Ninth God doesn't exist_', or _'how about you go get some professional help nine times, ya fucking lunatic?!_' Now, if there were eight people or less, or ten people or more, insulting me and the Ninth God, I would've just let it slide. But there were nine people there! _**NINE**_! If I just left them alone, not only would the Ninth God be upset with them, the Ninth God would be upset with me nine times more than He would be upset with those blasphemous heretics!"

"Yes, well they're dead now, thanks to you," said the guard, rolling his eyes. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Well at least those blasphemous heretics are blessed with eternal salvation in the Land of Nine Heavens, rather than rotting for all eternity in the Place Devoid of the Number Nine," Trent shrugged. "I've pretty much saved these people from an eternity of condemnation. Their families should be thanking me and the Ninth God nine times for this."

"Excuse me Trent, not everyone is a follower of your number nine fetish," the guard scolded. "A real religion takes into account the existence of other religions. And out of curiosity, what were you doing at the registry office without a partner?" he demanded.

"I want to marry the number nine!" Trent scowled. "Is it much too difficult to ask?!"

"Yes," the guard respond. "I know what you're thinking. Our constitution does state that an individual has every right to marry freely whoever or whatever they want, as long as they're 18 or over. But the constitution those dictate that all parties involved must sign the marriage contract for the marriage to be valid. It also requests explicit consent from all parties wishing to enter the marriage. Since nine is a number, and that a number has no physical, personal presence in this universe, how in earth do you expect the number nine to explicitly consent to marrying you and physically sign the marriage contract?"

"Oh, the number nine will **definitely** sign that marriage license," Trent insisted, "and it will do so by **the Power of the Nine**!"

"You know Trent, when I first saw you on _Total Drama Island_, your head looked to be screwed on tighter than most other people on that show," said the guard. "Now look at you. The producers must have been doing a shitload of editing that season."

"No, I just thought that everyone knew about the Ninth God until after the finale that season!" Trent snapped. "Gwen was confused, very confused, about the Number Nine Religion, and that was how I realised she was a pagan!"

The guard rolled his eyes. "No wonder there's no hope for Gwent," he sneered. "This is why we should all be Gwody fans!"

* * *

Harold and – begrudgingly – Duncan were sitting at their table at an Irish pub. They've just had their three course meal. Duncan thought it was a rip-off compared to how much a similar meal would cost back in Portugal.

"Gosh Duncan, isn't Irish cuisine just awesome?" Harold asked.

"Well, I happen to like their beer," Duncan huffed.

"Bulmer's is a cider, not a beer," Harold corrected Duncan. Duncan frowned.

"Whatever, this stuff is the shit." He downed what was left of the pint glass. He wiped his mouth with his sleep. "Anyway, can we go now?" he asked.

"No," said Harold. "I promised Trent we'd wait here. And you should be using the napkins to wipe yourself, not your sleeve."

"I don't see **you** using those tissues to clean your nose," Duncan sneered, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I'm sure Trent is not going to show up. He probably got arrested for threatening innocent bystanders with 'the Power of the Nine'."

"Excuse me, Duncan, those are not tissues, those are napkins," said Harold. "Even if Trent doesn't show up, I still want to watch the match." Duncan turned his head to see the telly hanging from the wall. Yes, there was a hurling match taking place, but he could not understand a word the narrator was saying.

"Harold, do you actually know what the guy on the TV is saying?!" Duncan demanded.

"Yes," replied Harold. "I've studied Irish before. I want to put it to good use."

"Huh, for a second, I thought they were speaking German, or Dutch, or Russian or Jedi," the delinquent smirked. His husband scowled at him. He opened his mouth to give Duncan the lecture of the century, but before a word could pass through his mouth, Trent entered the pub and took a seat between Harold and Duncan. He didn't look too happy.

"What's wrong with you?!" Duncan demanded. Trent sighed nine times and said:

"I didn't get the marriage license."

Harold's ears pricked up. "You didn't? But I thought the Irish voters legalised all kinds of marriage with 72% in favour and 28% against."

"Yes, but the police told me that all parties wishing to get married must physically sign the contracts themselves out of their own free will," sighed Trent. "There's no point arguing with a bunch of blasphemous heretics that don't believe in the Ninth God."

"You think you had it rough today?!" Duncan scowled. "We can't go back to the Burren, Aillwee Cave or the Cliffs of Moher ever again thanks to Sheldon Cooper over there!" Duncan pointed his finger over at Harold. Harold shrugged.

"Well it's not my fault everyone else there were so stupid," Harold replied. "And Trent, may I remind you that in the Republic of Ireland, the police are referred to as An Garda Siochána, also known as the Gardaí." He paused. "Wait, you were involved with the Gardaí?" he wondered.

"Yes, I stabbed nine people nine times each, and I got arrested and charged with murder in court," said Trent. "I had sentenced to life imprisonment with no parole, but all but nine minutes of the sentence was suspended. What does that mean?" he wondered.

"It means you were imprisoned for nine minutes, and if you commit the same crime as you did today again, you will end up spending the remainder of your life in prison," said Harold.

"Huh," said Trent, "it explains why they've let me out after being in jail for nine minutes." Duncan couldn't help but laugh at this.

"And what's so funny, Duncan?!" Trent demanded.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Duncan chortled. "Thank God this happened while we were in Ireland, otherwise you'd be fucked." He stood up. "Here, let me buy you a drink," he chuckled.

"No need," Trent smiled. He went up to a table nearby, where there were nine pints of Guinness. Trent took all of them and brought them over to his table. Duncan smirked at this.

"Wow, Trent, I'm impressed," he smirked, reaching over to take a pint. But Trent slapped his hand away nine times.

"Back off, those drinks are mine!" snapped Trent. "If there are nine pints of alcohol on a table, then they're mine for the taking! And did you know that 'mine' rhymes with 'nine'?!" he asked.

"Dude, are you seriously going to drink all of that beer?!" Duncan demanded.

"Yes," said Trent.

"Well then you're crazy," sneered Duncan. "And did you know that 'nine' also rhymes with 'mime'?!" he jeered.

Trent rolled his eyes. "Like I'm gonna let that get in the way of my faith," he sneered, before downing each pint; one glass right after the other. Upon finishing off the last – and ninth – pint, Trent was literally drunk off his ass, or as they say in Ireland, _drunk off his arse like a fecking gob-sheen_.

Duncan couldn't help but snicker as Trent got up to do some crazy shit. The numerical cultist found a violin left unattended, so he picked it up and strum it like a guitar. The musician decided to perform nine musical solos, nine times each. The lyrics of his first solo went like this:

"_NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!_

"_NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!_

"_NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!_

"_NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!_

"_NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!_

"_NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!_

"_NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!"_

Despite the fact that all Trent said was 'NINE!' the public couldn't help but clap along to the beat. The song was very catchy after all. The owner of violin, however, wasn't too pleased that Trent stole his violin and played it like a guitar. He believed the only reason everyone was enjoying the music and not laughing their arses off at it was because it was Trent who was doing the singing. The owner of the violin demanded that Duncan and Harold intervene at once, threatening to call the guards if Trent didn't give him back his guitar.

* * *

A week later, the honeymoon was over for Harold and Duncan. Duncan was looking forward to getting back to Portugal so he could give Izzy and the registrar a piece of his mind. Harold was satisfied with the honeymoon, but Duncan obviously was not. All they did was go sight-seeing, when they could've done extreme activities like zip-lining, skydiving, windsurfing or cliff-diving. Plus, everyone they came across was egging Duncan on to have sex with Harold, which shocked Duncan because he expected Ireland to be a conservative country, but apparently that all changed during the economic boom of the 1990's and the early 2000's, and so the Irish people gradually started copying the Dutch. Trent was sad to leave Ireland, because he did not get a chance to marry the number nine. So in retaliation, Trent prayed to the Ninth God nine times that Ireland will suffer from a drought for nine consecutive years for its populous being blasphemous heretics.

Sadly for Duncan, his time in Ireland turned out to be much more pleasant compared to his second time in Portugal.

* * *

**And there we go, another epically crazy chapter. Trent's song is based off of Podge and Rodge's Halloween song: **_**You Should Never Shove a Banger up Your Arse on Halloween**_**. I can't give you any links to the video, so just go to YouTube, type in **_**Podge and Rodge**_** series 2, episode 9. Yes, that was the ninth episode of the second season. That show has influenced my kind of humour. The episode is called **_**Halloween**_**, in case you were wondering.**

**I'll make sure that the next chapter will be crazier and weirder than this. Plus, we learn something about Duncan, well the Duncan in this fic at least. It may shock you.  
**

**Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Jaysus it's been over two weeks since I last updated this story. At least this update coincides with marriage equality coming back to California, which is fitting because Duncan and Harold are technically a same-sex couple in this fic since they got married, even though Duncan doesn't like it and that he was drunk during the wedding.**

**The characters are still in Portugal. I'm not sure when they will return to Canada. Anyway, this is the chapter where we learn something about Duncan, so the suspense is now over… until I create more suspense, MWAHAHAHAHA! Ahem, anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" shrieked Duncan, awaking with a jolt. He looked around the room to realise this was just a dream. His whole marriage to Harold was just a dream. Duncan breathed a sigh of relief as he laid back down on his bed.

"Gosh, you just woke me up from my dream, Duncan! IDIOT!" an all too familiar voice that was too close to Duncan's comfort hissed. Duncan realised that to his sheer horror, this wasn't a dream.

It was real. All of it.

Harold turned on the bedside lamp. He continued to remain oblivious to the death glare Duncan was giving him.

"Why did you scream?" Harold asked. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yes," Duncan replied, "except I'm living it, dweeb!"

"Do you want to have coitus with me?" Harold asked. "It could take your mind off the nightmare."

"Did you not hear a word I just said!" snapped Duncan. "I said I was **living** the nightmare! That means I wished this whole marriage thing didn't happen!"

"Why? Are you promiscuous?" Harold innocently asked.

Duncan looked at Harold in confusion. "What?!" he demanded.

"Oh, sorry," said Harold. "You don't know what promiscuous means? I'll explain it to you. It means-"

"I know what it means, Doris!" Duncan scolded. "And you shouldn't be asking me those questions!"

"I have a right to ask you those questions," Harold countered. "I'm your husband, GOSH! And Duncan, are you sure you know what promiscuous means?"

"It means you want to fuck millions of people!" Duncan snapped. "There! I know what it means!"

"That's not what it means!" Harold snapped back. "Promiscuous is an adjective used to describe an individual who has sex with several different people. Not every promiscuous individual has had sexual intercourse with millions of people."

Duncan had had enough. He pointed towards the door. "Get out!" he ordered.

"Why?" asked Harold.

"Because you're pissing me off, and it's my room, so get out!"

"Don't you mean **our** room?!" Harold corrected him. "We're married, remember? As a married couple, we must sleep in the same room. You're such an idiot, Duncan."

"Well I want a divorce!" Duncan barked. "Now get out!"

"But I don't want to," Harold protested.

Duncan exploded. "GET OUT!" he roared.

"I don't need this!" Harold scowled, marching into the en suite bathroom and slamming the door behind him. Duncan rolled his eyes and turned off the lamp. He tried to fall asleep, but he couldn't. Duncan realised that he needed to take a wiz so he got up and went over to the bathroom door. He knocked on it.

When there was no response, Duncan barked: "Harold, I need to use the bathroom!" When there was no response, Duncan gets angrier. He picks up his pants from the floor and removes a needle to pick the lock with. After several failed attempt at picking the lock, Duncan realises that the door was unlocked. Duncan opens the door. The bathroom was pitch black. Duncan switches on the light to see tissues everywhere. There was mucous on each tissue, causing Duncan to cringe.

Harold was sleeping in the bath. He was awoken by the light being turned on. He glared at Duncan. "Turn off the light! It impairs my ability to sleep properly! Curse you're ignorance of the importance of environmental factors of sleep! IDIOT!" Harold scolded.

"I need to piss!" Duncan scoffed.

"Then piss," said Harold.

"I'm not doing it while you're watching me!"

"It's okay. Regardless of the size of your penis in terms of length and circumference, I will always love you," Harold assured Duncan.

Duncan looked and Harold and gritted his teeth. "That better not be sarcastic, or I will beat the shit out of you!"

"No Duncan, I'm serious," Harold insisted. "A man only needs a penis to reproduce. If we decide conceive children through a surrogate mother and a donated ovum, only one of us needs to supply the sperm." Duncan rolled his eyes as he pulled down his pants and sat down on the toilet. He almost fell in because Harold left the toilet seat up.

"Harold, if we do have kids, and I mean, _**IF**_," Duncan retorted, "the father is going to be me! I don't want our child to have mental disorders when he finds out he came from you!"

"Duncan, if we do have a baby, there is no guarantee that he or she will be a boy," Harold corrected him. "But if I was the father of our child, wouldn't he or she be happy to know that his or her biological father has mad skills?"

"Mad skills my ass!" Duncan grunted when he flushed the toilet. When he did, he immediately realised the significance of that conversation he just had with Harold. He fainted.

And of all the possible places in a bathroom where Duncan could have landed, it just had to be Harold.

"Wash your hands after using the toilet, IDIOT!" Harold scolded. Then he realised that Duncan was unconscious.

* * *

Duncan awoke to find himself laying on top of Harold. He quickly climbed out of the bath and noticed several wet spots on Harold's pants. Duncan did not want to know what they were, so he pulled the shower curtains.

Duncan spent the rest of the day trying to avoid Harold. He failed. What bothered him the most was that Courtney and Gwen were talking to each other. They gave Duncan dirty looks when they noticed him.

"What do you want?!" Duncan snapped.

"To continue glaring at you," Courtney replied.

"You had it coming," Gwen added.

"Tell me you're not siding with her, Pasty!" Duncan demanded.

"Don't call me Pasty!" snapped Gwen. "You're lucky I'm angry with myself more than I am angry with you!" Duncan couldn't help but snicker at this.

"Don't snicker at her!" Courtney slapped Duncan in the face. "Especially when _**you**_ initiated the kiss!"

"Oh, so you forgive her now?!" Duncan huffed.

"Yes I do, actually!" Courtney snapped. "Especially after I found out that Gwen wasn't the first one you cheated on me with! Chris showed me some extra footage from _Total Drama Action_ and I found out you were sleeping with Lindsay, Beth, Izzy, Heather, Justin, Owen and Chef! You even slapped Trent's ass nine times and blamed it on DJ, and you were begging Bridgette and Geoff for a three-way!"

"Feel very stupid now that you took all of your anger out on Gwen," Duncan jeered. Gwen punched him in the face.

"Shut up, Duncan!" Gwen snapped. "When we got here you were sleeping with Anne Maria, kissing Sadie, receiving lap dances from Katie and letting Jo ride you on that cruise _**before**_ you broke up with me!"

"Should've thought of that earlier," Duncan jeered.

"That kiss back in the plane was a mistake that I thought was forgivable as long as it happens only once!" Gwen growled. "And I thought you really did love me and was on the verge of breaking up with Courtney! I was wrong!"

"At least there's one thing you've done for us!" Courtney scolded.

"And what is that?" Duncan demanded.

"You taught us that you're a pig!" Courtney shouted. "You are the biggest mistake Gwen and I have both made! Thank God we are both friends with Bridgette, otherwise we would never have realised this!" So the CIT and the Goth got up and went somewhere else. Suddenly, Duncan felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to face Harold.

"Duncan! I can't believe you never told me you've had sex with all these people!" Harold scowled. "Thank God we never shifted during our honeymoon! You'd better get tested for STDs before we can have sex!"

To Duncan's horror, Harold's worlds were heard all over the pool area. Everyone that was on _Total Drama_ heard them.

"NO WAY!" Chris cackled. "THAT IS AWESOME!"

Duncan let out a loud scream and stomped back to his room. He hated Harold, and now he hates Gwen as much as he hates Courtney, not that he liked Gwen before he started hating her. He will always cherish those memories of when he shagged both girls, though.

* * *

**Thanks to this chapter, I have written over 300,000 words. That's quite an achievement for someone who's only been on the site for two and a half years… okay, so it's not an achievement. Who cares? I'm delighted to have finally written over 300,000 words. I've no plans as to what's going to happen in the next chapter as of yet, but I'll definitely have it up some day. I plan to update all of my stories next month, but my main priority now for fan fiction is to update **_**Total Drama: Island Renewed**_**. I swear, it takes days to update that story, but it's always worth it when it's updated.  
**

**Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**This is probably the most twisted chapter I have written for this story. Basically, a **_**Trainspotting**_** scene occurs. It might raise doubts as to whether the story should remain at T. It might even leave you shattered emotionally if you're used to this kind of thing. Oh yeah, and there's this seven-letter swearword beginning with 'K' that we often use in Ireland. It's the slang term for a lowlife scumbag. It is also used to refer to people who are wasters. It can apply to either settled people or travellers, but some people who tend to read tabloid newspapers too often will use the word exclusively against travellers, which is why the word is considered to be offensive among the travelling community in Ireland. But I just had to put that word in there because Duncan has been to Ireland and he'd be the type of person to use that word.**

**On another note, this chapter has the biggest cliff hanger for **_**Happily Civilly Unionised**_**. Basically, by the end of this chapter, you will be speechless. Even if you skipped the **_**Trainspotting**_** scene or the scene where the K word is used, you'd be speechless.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Duncan marched into his room and slammed the door shut. He was pissed off. He could not believe that Harold just said that right in front of everyone. And now that Gwen and Courtney are friends again, Duncan is now officially enemy number one. He hated his life. He hated everyone. Even his friends and family. He only had 'friends' because they always supplied him with booze, pot and sex. The only things keeping him from leaving his family for good are the shelter, food and laundry service.

Duncan laid down on his bed when a thought of Scott giving him a lap dance came to mind. This caused Duncan to play with himself. Just after he climaxed, Duncan sighed in relief. Then Duncan opened his eyes to see Scott standing there, glaring at him.

"Can I help you, scumbag?!" Duncan scowled, raising his fist. He lowered it as soon as he realised it wasn't the dry fist that he was holding up.

"Yes," Scott snarled. "Give me back my heroin. I know you have it."

"What makes you think that I have it, you knacker?!" Duncan demanded.

"The fact that you're the only one on the show who's a bigger knacker than me," Scott sneered. "Though I'm glad the Irish have made you realise what word applies to you," he snickered.

"You calling me a waster?!" Duncan got up to stand tall, glaring menacingly at Scott.

Scott glared back. "Were you not listening to a word I just said?! Yes, you're a waster. And you will always be one if you keep using people for sex, robbing shops and banks, living off social welfare, taking drugs, recruiting minors to be scums just like you and making life a living Hell for everyone else."

Suddenly, Scott shoved Duncan back onto the bed.

And climbed on top of him.

"No one can be a bigger waster than me!" snarled Scott. "NO ONE!"

Duncan just stared dreamily into Scott's eyes. "Wow… you're so dedicated… How did you get into my room?" he asked.

"I've been you Duncan on cable ever since," Scott replied. "I've noticed you too were a waster. Just like me. Thought I could copy some of your tricks so I can maintain my title as the biggest waster in North America. But you're too good at being a waster. I'll just have to dominate you. Besides, you forgot to lock the door. These doors don't lock automatically like the doors at most hotels do."

"Lucky for you, I was imagining myself receiving a lap dance from you," Duncan smirked. "Go ahead. Dominate me."

* * *

Harold walked down the hallway to Duncan's hotel room when he noticed that the door was left open. He peeked in. A horrible sight met his eyes.

Duncan and Scott were lying under the bed sheets. Both were covered in sweat and both looked like they were on heroin. Their clothes were lying all over the floor.

To say that Harold was furious would be an understatement. Every inch of his body has riled up with rage. He could not believe that Duncan would do this to him… although considering that the subject was Duncan, it was very naïve of Harold to think that Duncan would never do this to him.

"GOSH!" Harold snapped. Duncan and Scott looked up at him. Duncan was shocked and said:

"Look Harold, this ain't what you think it is!"

"Oh it is what I think it is!" Harold snapped. "You have injected yourself with heroin! Do you even realise the net negative effects it can have on your body and mind?! IDIOT!"

"Heroin's not so bad," Scott pointed out. "Not if you're a waster, anyway."

"I don't want to hear it! I'm angry with both of you, but especially you, Duncan!" snarled Harold. "I will have no husband of mine taking drugs solely for recreational purposes!" He stormed out of Duncan's room and marched over to his own room. He hasn't slept in there for over a week.

Duncan turned to face Scott and sobbed: "Scott! What have I done?!"

"It's no big deal," Scott assured the delinquent, pulling him closer to him. "In one in five marriages a spouse cheats on the other. Usually they do it just because they have a moment of weakness."

"No, I don't give a crap about Harold!" Duncan insisted. "I'm upset because I shat in the bed!"

"What?" Scott asked. He lifted up the covers and stuck his hand under them, reaching over to Duncan's mid-section. He withdrew his hand, absolutely shocked by what he's just saw on his hand.

"Awesome," Scott smiled. "The afternoon has gotten more interesting."

* * *

Harold stumped into his room and slammed the door shut. He went over to his desk, yanked open the drawer and withdrew a scrapbook. Harold threw the book onto the desk and sat down on the chair. He opened the book and flipped over to a page with several pictures of Duncan pasted onto the page. The heading was entitled:

_Ultimate Revenge Against Mortal Enemy_

Harold smiled evilly as he turned over the page, where a list of instructions were found. Next to each instruction was a box. Harold grabbed a pencil and proceeded to tick some of the boxes. The boxes he's ticked so far were correspondent to the following instructions in chronological order:

Win C$10 million in the national lottery.

Give Chris C$3 million to take the _Total Drama_ cast and crew out to Portugal for 3 weeks.

Katie, Sadie, Izzy et al to pretend to get jobs for C$100,000 each.

Get Duncan drunk off his ass.

'Marry' Duncan.

Take Duncan on a 'honeymoon' to Ireland for a week.

Embarrass Duncan as often as possible

Put Scott's heroin in Duncan's room.

Spike Duncan's liquor with laxatives.

Harold smirked evilly. But this wasn't the end. He had more boxes to tick. In just a few days everyone would be returning to Canada, so Harold will have to act swiftly.

He never liked Duncan. Not even as an acquaintance. No, this whole marriage thing was all a set-up to wreak the perfect revenge against the asshole who's been torturing him to no end for these past few years.

And Harold McGrady wouldn't have done it without winning the lottery two months ago.

* * *

**Dun! Dun! Dun!**

**So the marriage was all a hoax?! So Harold is actually devising the ultimate revenge against Duncan?! So Duncan is a waster?! Yeah, I could use the K-word instead, but I feel that using it twice is enough for one T-rated story. I'm Irish, and that word is considered to be offensive in the Irish Republic, so I don't feel comfortable using it too much.**

**Stay tuned for more chaos and insanity.**

**Until next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**It's been over five weeks since I last updated this fic. Well, I'm back. Anyway, this chapter is less offensive or disgusting than the previous chapter, but I'm not sure if it is as WTF or as insane as the previous. We'll see. Enjoy.**

* * *

Later that day, Duncan had to pay a fine for defecating in his bed. The cleaner had no difficulty cleaning up after Duncan and Scott's mess because she had a poo-fetish, but Duncan still had to pay a fine to be made an example of, because not all of the cleaners had the fetish. Because Duncan had no euros on him (he spent it all paying fines for shoplifting) Chris had to pay on Duncan's behalf, so now Duncan owes Chris $3,000 (the fine was only the equivalent of $1,500, but Chris decided not to tell Duncan this because he was greedy).

Unfortunately, that was nothing in Duncan's eyes. Harold found out the mess he made in his bed. Of all the times Harold could have picked to give out to Duncan about it, it had to be when everyone was in the dining area eating their dinner.

Just when the main course arrived, Harold suddenly blurted out to Duncan: "GOSH! WHY COULDN'T YOU USE THE TOILET TO DEFICATE?! ONLY AN IDIOT WOULD CHOSE TO EXCRETE IN THE BED! IDIOT!"

Everyone dropped their spoons and forks in shock. They looked over at Duncan and Harold's table, staring at the couple. Obviously, they were not happy that Harold said something disgusting for the whole room to hear while everyone else was just about tucked into their meals. But they could not help but point and laugh at Duncan. Even Scott was pointing and laughing. Duncan wanted to bang his head against the table, or run out of the room and hide. Instead, Duncan thought it would look manlier if he picked up the table and throw it somewhere random.

Duncan's decision was effective in shutting everyone up. Unfortunately, the table landed on Eva's table, killing an intern who was bringing food to Eva and causing Eva to be pissed. She was really looking forward to her meal.

"YOU BASTARD!" Eva roared. "I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO THAT!"

"Oops…" was all that Duncan could manage.

"I'M GONNA CRUSH YER SKULL!" Eva bellowed, running towards Duncan. Duncan screeched like a little girl and ran out of the dining hall; something he wished he'd done rather than throw the table at no particular target. Eva continued to chase Duncan until he ran into one of the lifts and punched a random button. The doors closed right before Eva could run into the lift with him. Duncan sighed in relief.

Suddenly, Duncan heard a loud thump. He froze. Then out of the blue, a white fixt emerged from the centre of the floor. Duncan shrieked in sheer terror as the hole through which the fist passed grew bigger, as the same fist ripped more parts of the floor. Soon, the floor was big enough for Eva to fit through. She climbed up, stood up and pushed every numbered button that was on the panel, much to Duncan's terror.

"H-how did you… d-d-did you g-g-get in here?!" Duncan stammered.

Eva smirked. "You'd think a pair of dumb elevator doors, a simple climb up the shaft and a metre of metal could shield you from my wrath?!" she jeered.

"No," said Duncan. "In fact, according to Harold, the way you entered the cab would have damaged the elevator."

Eva looked in Duncan in utter horror. "That's… that's not like you, Duncan…" she told him.

"I've been married to the dweeb for a week and a half," Duncan rolled his eyes. "You'd think even _I_ would be immune to his dorkiness?"

"Well it doesn't matter," Eva huffed. "Because all that matters is it's time to CRUSH YOUR SKULL!" Before Eva could throw a punch at Duncan, the lift suddenly stopped moving and the lights went out.

"I told ya," Duncan shrugged. Eva gritted her teeth and finally threw her punch. Luckily, Duncan ducked in time and ran over to the doors. According to Harold, when the electricity in the lift goes out, the motor keeping the doors closed are disabled. In this case, Harold was right, because Duncan was able to pull the doors open. He proceeded to run…

…only to slam into concrete. Eva laughed rudely at this.

"You think the doors were the only barrier to your escape?!" she sneered. "Even when the doors are working I can still force 'em open!"

"I could do that too!" Duncan snapped. "It's just that I can't afford to pay anymore fines in case I broke anything!"

"Well then FIGHT!" Eva ordered.

"I have better things to FUCKING do!" Duncan shouted. Suddenly, he discovered a way out of the lift. "Later," he muttered, diving through the hole…

…only to fall five metres to the ground.

"Ow," said Duncan.

Then Eva landed on him.

"Ow," said Duncan.

Eva punched him in the face.

"Ow," said Duncan, before losing consciousness.

* * *

**Yeah, I'm pretty sure it wasn't was good as you expected. Oh well, at least this could mean the next chapter could be funnier and make more sense. If not… I don't know. I can't please everyone, I hope you guys realise that.**

**Until next time!**


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